My brain is still spinning from Dr. Holmes’s barrage of questions about the pain and other symptoms, like if I have abdominal pain or psoriasis or tenderness over my joints. So many questions. Questions I hope result in an answer as to what is causing my body to be bitchy.
The door opens, and the rheumatologist walks into the room. He looks to be in his early sixties, with the remanence of a faded tan. He parks himself on the rolling stool, his face giving nothing away. I could be dying of a terminal disease and wouldn’t know it based on his expression.
I don’t say anything. I just wait for the ax to fall. Or not fall.
“Zara, the results are nonconclusive. You are negative for HLA-B27, so you don’t have Ankylosis Spondylitis. I didn’t think that would be the case. You said you first felt the pain in your shoulders. AS focuses on thespine, and there was no sign of it in your X-rays. There are several other disorders that could be causing the pain, but at this point, we don’t have any definitive answers. Your symptoms could be the result of rheumatoid arthritis, as Dr. Edwards suggested. It’s too early to know with certainty.”
Wonderful.I drove all the way to Eugene and still don’t have any answers. The only thing I have accomplished from this trip is getting farther behind on my to-do list.
“I recommend increasing the daily dose of the NSAID you’re taking or alternating between NSAIDs, so the pain doesn’t interfere too much with your quality of life.” He goes on to explain how best to go about this. “Make a follow-up appointment for six months on your way out, and we’ll check where things are progressing at that point. We’ll redo the X-rays and blood work to see if anything has changed in the meantime. How does that sound to you?”
“Okay,” I reply, biting back my growing frustration at the grumbling pain and the increasing discomfort from sitting on the exam table. I just want to get off the damn thing.
“Most importantly,” he continues, “listen to your body. If it tells you to rest, then do. If things progress in a way that interferes with your daily activities, you can talk to an occupational therapist for ways to better cope.”
Interferes with my daily activities? An occupational therapist?
Just how much of my life and business is thiswhatever I’ve gotgoing to disrupt? I shift, desperate to relieve the pain in my back and hips and shoulders. Desperate to return to Picnic & Treats.
I make an appointment with the receptionist and head out to my car. The drive to Eugene and sitting in the medical office increased the stiffness in my body. It’s the same as it was when I got up this morning.
I groan at the idea of driving home to Maple Ridge, but I don’t have a choice.
An hour. That’s how long the drive is. I can survive that. I have to survive it. I’ve got a café and renovations to return to. I can’t take the entire day off. I’ve wasted enough time here as it is.
Rest? That was what Dr. Edwards and Dr. Holmes told me I need todo during those times my body is having a fit. How the hell am I supposed to rest? I have too much to do.
On the drive to Maple Ridge, I focus on the mountains ahead, using them as the marker for my progress instead of the mileage on my odometer. Green fields stretch out in all directions on either side of the highway.
Twenty minutes into the drive, I approach the tail end of what appears to be barely-moving traffic.Fuck. Fuck. Fudgedy-cake. Fuck.There wasn’t construction on the highway during the drive to Eugene, which means there’s been an accident.
If I’m lucky, it isn’t too far ahead, and it won’t take long to pass it.
IfI’m lucky—but that doesn’t seem to be the case. The traffic inches along, which is better than us not moving at all. But the longer we inch at a sloth’s pace, the more my previous hope that this won’t take long sinks, and the more I shift in my seat, trying to get comfortable.
I haven’t had issues with the car seat until now. The discomfort must be due to the rheumatoid arthritis or whatever is causing my body to fail me.
Megan Thee Stallion comes up next on my playlist. I crank up the volume. If I’m going to be squirming to get comfortable, might as well do it to the beat of “HISS.”
I dance to the song, rapping the lyrics along with her, not caring what the people in the car behind me or beside me think.
I might be seated, but that doesn’t stop me from using my whole body as I dance, swaying, wiggling, sashaying. The traffic is barely moving, so I won’t cause an accident.
I don’t know what it is about Megan Thee Stallion, but the rhythm of her voice is pure magic. The pain in my back and hips eases a few notches, and I don’t feel so inclined to scream in frustration due to the discomfort and delay.
That quickly changes ten minutes later, when I realize the traffic is being rerouted, and the detour will add an additional hour to my drive to Maple Ridge.
By the time I finally arrive at P&T, my body, especially my neck, shoulders, and hips are screaming in pain. Megan Thee Stallion can only do so much if you’re rerouted and your body hates the idea of that.Megan Thee Stallion can only do so much if you have to pay attention to the road without moving your body to her beat.
My back throbs. Pain slices through my shoulders. Fire blazes along my arms. I park in my employee spot near the building and rest my forehead on the steering wheel. I close my eyes against the pain, tears welling up.
Get moving. Things always feel a little better once you’re moving, once the stiffness lessens.
I inhale slowly through my nose, attempting to chase away the pain. It doesn’t work, but it does help strengthen my resolve to get my ass in gear.
I tentatively climb out of the driver’s seat and slowly zombie-walk to the building’s back entrance. The fewer people who see me in this state, the fewer questions I’ll have to deflect.
It takes a lifetime and a half before I arrive at my destination. I lift my keys, my shoulders screaming, unlock the door, and step inside. The busy sounds—the chatter and the laughter—from the main part of the café greet me.
